


Self-Defence

by HopeCoppice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 16:34:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20028913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: After their visit to the old convent, Crowley worries about Aziraphale's ability to defend himself. Aziraphale agrees to a self-defence lesson.





	Self-Defence

"Come on, angel. No time to waste."

Crowley was, perhaps, very slightly tipsy; one toast at the Ritz had turned into several, and they'd brought a bottle of very nice wine with them to the park, besides. So he was a little unsteady as he leapt to his feet and waited impatiently for Aziraphale to follow suit.

"No time for what, Crowley?"

"Teaching you how to defend yourself. Can't have you being caught off-guard again, anyone could have taken you."

"Now, hold on a moment. That's not fair!" But he was following Crowley to a bare patch of grass all the same, lowering his voice as he continued, "They hit me with a crowbar, Crowley!"

"Not then. At the convent thingy. Come on, I'll even come at you from the front. Sporting chance," he clarified, imbuing the phrase with all the disgust it deserved.

"Convent… thingy?" Aziraphale looked as if he didn't even  _ remember  _ being attacked at the convent. "If we're going to fight, shouldn't we both at least sober up?"

"Nah," Crowley shrugged, and then, "yeah, fine, I suppose." They concentrated hard, and all the ducks on the lake began to tilt alarmingly to one side. Crowley, however, felt much more alert. Aziraphale seemed to, as well. The hangover lasted barely a few seconds; there really hadn't been anywhere near their usual amount of alcohol to expel.

Once they both seemed steady on their feet, the demon charged. Aziraphale barely had a chance to get his hands up, but crashing into them felt like running into a brick wall. Crowley staggered backwards, dazed, and Aziraphale followed, fussing.

“I’m  _ sorry _ , Crowley, I didn’t mean to- you surprised me, that’s all-”

“No, no, that’s great. Where was  _ that  _ before? Alright, now you attack me.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Fine, then I’ll- gah!” He had rushed the angel again, and Aziraphale had simply caught his arms, stopping him in his tracks without even a hint of force. He didn’t even look as if he was  _ trying. _

“Must we do this, Crowley?”

“ _ Yes _ . Because you didn’t lift a finger to stop me in that convent, and I want to know why so it doesn’t happen again.”

“ _ You _ ? You’re talking about when  _ you  _ grabbed me?”

“Of course. When else were you attacked at a convent?”

Aziraphale stared at him for a moment, and then his shoulders slumped. A surrender.

“Show me what you did.” Crowley wasn’t sure what he meant at first, but Aziraphale tipped his head towards a nearby tree. “Go on.”

And Crowley did; he grabbed the angel by his lapels and shoved him backwards, until his back almost hit the tree. He felt, as well as saw, Aziraphale’s hand reach for the tree and cushion his own fall; all Crowley had to worry about was his head. Then he pinned him there, snarling.

“You called me nice. I’m not  _ nice. _ ”

“No. Not at all, dear, of course not.” The angel wasn’t very convincing.

“But you’re not  _ fighting  _ it, why aren’t you fighting? I could have thrown you right through that wall-”

“But you didn’t-”

“I could do anything, right now. Look how helpless you are. Why would you let that happen?”

“Crowley.”

“I could  _ discorporate  _ you-”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale gently disentangled himself from the demon’s grip, and Crowley let him. “Let’s swap places.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Crowley teased, but he allowed himself to be backed up against the tree. 

Aziraphale’s movements were almost tender as he lifted him slightly, keeping him off-balance, and though Crowley tried to fight he found that there was little he could do against the angel’s superior strength. At least, not without risking actual harm to either of them. He found himself, instead, leaning in slightly, trying to meet the intensity of Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Hm. No, that won’t do. May I?” The angel was holding him with one hand, now, the other gesturing towards Crowley’s sunglasses. Crowley nodded, confused, and Aziraphale gently removed the glasses before perching them on his own nose. “There, that’s more like it.”

“You didn’t fight,” Crowley reminded him weakly, “why didn’t you fight?”

“You could have done anything to me, that’s what you said.” Aziraphale smiled. “Maybe, wily old tempter that you are, I was hoping you  _ would _ .”

And then, blue eyes searching gold all the way, he crowded in even closer.

“Maybe I was hoping you’d do  _ this _ ,” he whispered, lips mere inches from Crowley’s own, and Crowley made an incoherent noise before closing the gap. The argument was lost; Aziraphale could clearly hold his own in combat, and had simply chosen not to. But as the angel kissed him, it felt like a victory all the same.


End file.
